


Amarullis

by ShadowBiscuit



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jared, Falling In Love, Good guy Jensen, Kinda dark Jared Padalecki, M/M, Opposites Attract, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Jared Padalecki, POV Jensen Ackles, Past Rape/Non-con, Sex Toys, Shady Business, Top Jensen, brothel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowBiscuit/pseuds/ShadowBiscuit
Summary: There is a certain store, in a certain city.With a certain door, leading to a hidden world of sin.Jared Padalecki is the ruler of this world he created. But every king has their skeletons in their closet.Not every one has a charming man trying to get into their pants and claiming them as his, though.





	1. Treasure Under the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this isn't my usual thing. Sam and Dean? They're my thing. The Supernatural universe? My superthing, considering that I have written 71 (as of now) stories set in that world or using those characters. But I've been wanting to try writing with Jared and Jensen, so. Here it is. Hope you all enjoy it ;D

 

Amarullis.

A Greek word, meaning sparkling, splendour. It comes from a popular poem created by the Roman poet, Virgil. In one of his most popular works, he told the story of a shy, timid nymph, named Amaryllis. One day, she fell deeply in love, completely enamoured by the shepherd, Alteo. Handsome, with Apollo's beauty, and strong, with Hercules' strength, every maiden longed for his heart...which was cold, unloving except for the plants he oh so cherished. Desperate to win his love by giving him the one thing he desired the most—a flower so special, so unique it has never existed in this world before—Amaryllis sought advice from the oracle of Delphi. 

Following the instructions given to her, she dressed in white, posing as a maiden, and appeared at Alteo's door for one night, two nights... Thirty nights in a row. And each time, she pierced her heart with a golden arrow, shedding drops of blood along the way. Alteo ignored her for the first twenty-nine days; but on the thirtieth, when at last he opened the door, he noticed how beautiful scarlet flowers have bloomed along the path the nymph took, sprung from the blood of Amaryllis's heart. Finally, then, the shepherd's love was hers, Amaryllis winning him over with the flowers she created through her struggle, her determination. Her devotion. 

"Whoa..." The crowd of girls blinked at him in awe, leaning over the counter.

"I had no idea the store's name had such a beautiful meaning," one of them sighed.  
  
"Is there a reason why you chose this name for it?" another one asked, her eyes sparkling with the hope of discovering something else deep and romantic about the store.  
  
But Jared had to disappoint.   
  
"Not really," he said with a pleasant smile, looking around the store. "I just found both the flower and the poem to be gorgeous. And, well, it does seem rather fitting, considering the word's meaning."  
  
Amarullis. A Greek word, meaning sparkling, splendour. And also the name of Jared Padalecki's jewelry store. He's been the founder and owner for four years, and during that short period of time, this "new jewelry store that just opened on the block" has turned into _the_ most famous one in the city, and has even climbed its way up on the popularity ladder, holding the third place on the long list of most exquisite and popular jewelry stores in the entire country, surpassing Tiffany  & Co. just half a year ago. And just as one would expect from such a highly-sought after brand, the cozy and sort of vintage store, furnished with mainly warm and wooden furniture, offered a wide variety of luxury pendants and rings, bracelets and watches, gifts and trinkets, accessories and types of jewelry decorated with the rarest and purest diamonds, with every elegant gem one could think of. Diamond and onyx rings; topaz bracelets, adorned with serpentine lines of white gold; precious stone rings with the most colorful topaz, pink and green tourmaline, aquamarine, amethyst, rubellite; diamond pendants embellished with peridot and yellow gold; pearl and diamond, rose gold earrings shaped like hearts, feathers and flowers; black spinel anklets and watches encrusted with diamonds.   
  
Jared was proud of his store, and he had every reason to be. He no longer depended on anyone, no longer had to live in someone's basement, was no longer a poor boy, both literally and figuratively. He was a man, now, with his own business, his store that made millions every year, and which made even him famous...although in some of the shadier circles.  
  
"Afternoon, Padalecki," a large man in an expensive suit, and a no doubt even more expensive watch greeted him, his derogatory gaze and demeanour scaring away the group of girls that have gathered in front of the counter. Jared may have been the owner, but he liked to be present at all times, for example working as the cashier. It meant hiring one person less and, in a business like this, it was always better when one knew their clients by name. It gave him a sense of supremacy. An invisible leash on which he could tug anytime, lightly as a warning, or hard. Suffocating.  
  
"Mister Bishop." Jared nodded his head in a polite greeting, also slapping on his most charming smile which always seemed to work rather well with these rich, slimy bastards. Just because they were his clients, he didn't have to like them. At all. "How did the wife like the ruby ring from last month?"  
  
The man, an important politician, grunted in response as he reached into his suit jacket's inner pocket. "She was pleased, yes. But you know how women are," he inconspicuously slid a black card over the counter, chuckling lowly, the golden amaryllis flower in the middle gleaming in the warm, aureate light of the store. "So," the man continued, watching as Jared gave him a brisk smile and shone a small UV flashlight on the card, revealing a number, then gave it back for him to pocket again, "I'd like to purchase another one of your...fine jewelry."  
  
The filthy look that Bishop may have succeeded to suppress from creeping onto his lips, was disturbingly obvious in his eyes, but as always, Jared kept his contempt to himself, learning to hide it behind the facade he carefully crafted among the years. Hiding out of mercy, not fear. "Of course." He glanced at Chad, the blonde man in pure black getup the closest thing he had to a friend. Chad was guarding the large wooden door near the counter with the cash register, where Jared was standing, looking all tough and intimidating. He did ask the guy to look professional at the beginning, but he was surprised to see just how well it worked—even though sometimes Chad just looked ridiculous, squinting at customers and looking seconds away from jumping them. But, considering just what was behind the door, Jared supposed that resembling a hitman was always better than seeming weak.   
  
"Switch?" Chad asked, raising an eyebrow as their eyes met, and Jared gave him the faintest of nods.   
  
"Don't let anyone else in there while I'm busy..." he said, pausing as he walked past the other, "with our current client."  
  
"Have I ever?" Chad smirked, missing Jared's eye roll as he leaned against the counter, probably just glad he didn't have to play the role of the hired muscle for a few minutes.   
  
Ignoring Bishop's impatient gaze, Jared let a small, genuine smile cross his face for a moment, before he looked around the store and slid an antique-looking brass key into the keyhole. He only opened the door slightly, slipping inside and closing, locking it as soon as Bishop was on the other side.   
  
This room was smaller than the main store, but still large enough to hold the countless items and very special jewelry only available to a select few. Jared walked across the Persian carpet in the middle of the room, turning around and grimacing slightly at the unusual sight of a politician looking through vitrines of luxury sex toys. Butt plugs adorned with crystal jewelry at the bottom, dildos lined up with tiny gemstones, weights with diamonds instead of balls, whips and paddles with blown glass grips speckled with gold... Any and all kinds of sex toys the filthy rich could ever ask and hope for.  
  
Once Bishop had picked out a toy for today, a string of mauve pearl anal beads, Jared unlocked the door on the other side of the room, and led the man down the black marble stairs. Reaching the bottom, Jared took a deep breath, taking in the faint smell of spicy incense and letting the relaxing sound of the glass waterfall wall in the middle of the room, along with the soft and quiet background music that always reminded him of ancient Egypt, wash over him.  
  
"So," Jared said after a moment, turning around and gesturing at the rows of big, black, numbered stalls lining the walls, each with a thick burgundy curtain hiding its interior, "the usual? Or would you like to pick another gemstone today?"   
  
The man seemed to think about it for a moment, but then said, "No. I will get Sapphire again."  
  
"Alright." Jared pointed at one of the stalls. "Then please wait before number three, and only enter once you have heard the chime—"  
  
"Yes, I know how it works," Bishop interrupted him rather rudely, his lips twitching into a curt smile, which really just looked like a sneer. "Thank you."  
  
Jared waited until the man crossed the room, taking his sweet time to get to the big curtain, before he moved to the side and pressed the little white button of the intercom on the wall.   
  
"You're up, Sapphire. Stall three." He smirked. "He's got the pearl beads again, so I hope your ass is ready."  
  
He glanced back over his shoulder at Bishop, just as he disappeared behind the curtain, and then headed back for the stairs. Before leaving, he stopped by Clif's booth near the stairs, the gruff teddy bear-looking man in the middle of reading a magazine when Jared knocked on the glass.  
  
"We've got a customer," he said through the tiny holes in the glass, to what Clif raised his eyebrows at him, looking up from the magazine.  
  
"I noticed," he remarked, nodding at the number of small screens in the booth, each showing the interior of every stall. The curtains served as a nice illusion of privacy, while the hidden cameras recorded everything, gathering blackmail material and shattering every sense of safety the men and women felt the moment they entered this elite, underground brothel.   
  
Jared leaned closer to the glass, just enough to catch a glimpse of Bishop's stark white, naked ass, which was more than enough for him. "You don't think he's going to do anything." It wasn't a question.  
  
Clif snorted. "This guy? He's all bark, no bite. He might be powerful with words, but his type could never hurt a fly," he said, shrugging. "I'm not worrying."  
  
Fair enough. "Keep an eye on him anyway. I don't want him harming the merchandise."  
  
"Heart of gold, as always," Clif chuckled, and then went back to reading his magazine when Jared gave him a look. Yeah, he wasn't the sweetest apple on the tree.  
  
But kindness doesn't get you far in life, as Jared had to learn very early.  
  
Once upstairs, he locked the door behind him and patted Chad on the back, earning a melodramatic sigh from the man. He obviously didn't enjoy standing in one place for sometimes hours on end, but someone had to do it. And it certainly wasn't going to be Jared. Not after all he's been through to create the most lucrative business one could ever dream of.  
  
Sex and jewelry. Aside from drugs and oil, businesses Jared didn't really feel like joining, these made the most money. He had learned that way back, when he was still a small child. You learn a lot of things when you have a prostitute as a mother. But those years were behind him... Way, way behind. He wasn't a poor kid anymore. He may have started out as one, when he hired his own first prostitute—now called escorts, by their requests—to work for him, but as his illegal business grew, as more and more girls and boys came to work for him, Jared had enough money to stop making his whores work on the streets, and rent a house. Had enough money to open a shop. And then had enough money to rise to the top, with wealthy and high status clients both in his surface...and underground trade.  
  
On the outside, Amarullis was just one of those extremely fancy, expensive jewelry stores, with reddish mahogany wood making up most of the interior. With a small resting area at the side, with plush chairs and sofas, beautiful coffee tables and china; with old and vintage paintings hanging on the walls; and with relaxing, classical, and soft cello music in the background, Bach's Cello Suit number one in G being a favorite among customers, the store truly seemed welcoming and rather posh. Aristocratic, even. Which is why no one seemed to be suspicious each time Jared escorted someone, most likely important and rich-looking people, to the back room, and down into the belly of the beast named _sin_. Countless gorgeous men and women with the names of gemstones were available to only the filthy rich, those who could afford to purchase the Amarullis membership card. With that special card, they had access to the realm beyond the curtains, a world of anonymous and taboo, nasty activities made elegant with the fancy toys and warm, lavish atmosphere. Each stall held a different set-up, divider-like walls with smaller holes for either the arms or legs, and bigger for whatever areas the customer wanted to play with, sometimes an escort's entire lower half trapped on one side of the wall, legs spread and ankles chained to the floor, or strapped in creative ways. They offered a large number of positions, none of which left the escorts' faces visible, providing the customers with thrilling mystery, and the workers with safety. 

It was the perfect deal, for both sides. The escorts got to work anonymously, in a guarded environment; and as there was a jewelry store right above them, Jared let the boys and girls borrow some of the jewelry for themselves, given that they brought them back the next day, clean and shiny, in the same condition as when they took them. And the customers could fuck whoever they wanted without leaving a trail for the media, the store a convenient disguise for their naughty pastime, with no one shaming them for their perverse, sometimes downright sick kinks. It was an Eden of secret pleasure, created to charm the wealthy and the corrupt—the type of illegal business that remained legal in the eyes of the sharks reigning in this ocean of money and status.   
  
Jared knew how the system worked. 

He knew even more about the loopholes in it.   
  
He grew up surrounded by corruption. Try as he might, he could not keep it from slowly, gradually, seeping into his heart and blackening it with soot, with a darkness that he liked to think was usually balanced out by some of his good moments. Sadly, those moments have become rarer and rarer, the years adding layers of chains around the door behind which he kept the last remains of his more sensitive part, keeping it hidden from everyone. He couldn't afford caring, or being even the least bit emotional in this world filled with wolves in sheep's clothing.   
  
Love was nothing but a heavy burden; that is, if you wanted to be successful in life.  
  
Speaking of wolves, Jared was snapped out of his little reverie as a chill ran down his spine and left him clenching his jaw, an instinctive reaction that he seriously needed to get rid of... It made him feel too vulnerable.   
  
He looked towards the direction of the sound that never failed to make him shudder, at the black walking cane with a silver cobra head as a handle, before raising his gaze to the man holding it with the same serpentine smirk than never seemed to leave his face. Jared narrowed his eyes, and held his head high as the other approached the counter with his two goons trailing right behind him, the repetitive, dreaded sound of the cane hitting the floor mocking him with each step.   
  
"Jaybird!" The man stopped on the other side of the counter, hands resting on the cobra's head. He sounded like he was greeting an old friend. But they weren't friends. Not even close. "Any new watches in stock?"  
  
Jared's smile dripped with resentment as he narrowed his eyes. "For you? The next shipment of watches I'm willing to sell from to you should arrive around..." He glanced at his own watch and pursed his lips. "Oh, right." He looked back up at the man, smile vanishing from his face. "Never."   
  
"Feisty as ever. My Jaybird never changes, huh?" He chuckled, and Jared had to stifle his snarl. This man... Mark Pellegrino. He was the black, burnt food at the bottom of your pan that you can't scrape off no matter how hard you try. He was the kind of filth in the sewers that not even rats dared to approach. He was the personification of the Devil in a black Armani suit, with thick silver rings on his always perfectly manicured fingers.   
  
And, unfortunately, he was obsessed with Jared.   
  
"I've told you countless times not to call me that, haven't I?" he said, trying to keep his tone neutral even though he would have loved to kick the man out of his store. Literally. His legs could have used some workout.   
  
Mark, unfazed as always, raised a hand with a shrug. "How would you prefer I call you, then? Jay Jay? Jarey?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Jarebear?"  
  
"I'd _prefer_ you not calling me anything," he stated coolly, glancing at the two nameless goons before furrowing his brow and leaning forward. "Look," Jared said, lowering his voice, "I've already told you no countless times."  
  
"Yes, I've heard. I still have my ears." Mark's smirk turned darker, if that was even possible. "But what I'm offering you isn't the kind of business deal you just...flat out refuse, darling," he pointed out, tone full of smug confidence as his eyes trailed up and down Jared's body, making the other scowl. "You know that when it comes to buying and selling...pleasure, I'm a professional."  
  
"Oh, I know. Which is why I'm refusing," Jared asserted, his hard gaze on Mark never wavering.   
  
Mark scoffed, visibly holding back from rolling his eyes. "Come on, Jaybird. I've got the merchandise you need, plenty of it. And here you've created a safe haven for...them." A crooked smile crossed his face. "Are you sure you want to leave all those people in my hands? You're not that type of person. And then we could open an even bigger business, share the profits, become the best at this stuff... You can't tell me you don't want to. You can't tell me you don't _care_. About them."  
  
Jared held the man's gaze for a long moment, before looking away. He hated being reminded of it. He hated imagining what those poor people must be going through, working for Mark. But... "That's what you're wrong about," he said with a low hiss in his voice. "That's what you have always been wrong about. I'm not a hero. I've never been one. Never will be. I have my own goals, and helping others isn't one of them. I'm not someone with the dignity and morals of those in dramas and movies out there." He stepped back and crossed his arms. "You can't convince me to work with you by appealing to my better nature. You can't appeal to my empathic side, because I don't _have_ an empathic side."   
  
"Now," Mark said with a skeptical chuckle, cocking his head, "you can't say—"  
  
"I can. And I will," Jared cut him off, gazing at the two burly men—new faces again, as Mark either kept switching them or they kept dying between the man's visits—giving him a nasty look, but Jared was practically immune to death glares by now. "So I suggest you take your leave now, _sir_ ," he said with a smarmy smile, gesturing towards the entrance, "and take your pet gorillas with you."  
  
Aforementioned gorillas narrowed their eyes and took an intimidating step forward, but before they could have advanced any further, Mark raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks. "It's fine, boys. We have clearly outstayed our welcome." He returned the other's smile. "Jared," he said pleasantly, with a friendly nod. "I will see you around."  
  
"I sure hope not." His cheeks felt sore from all the fake smiling, Jared clenching his teeth and keeping the smile on his face until all three men were gone. The moment they were out the door, his expression turned into one of disgust and disdain, and he let out a deep sigh, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. That was better, looking at some pretty clouds painted on the ceiling to clean his vision after being exposed to such a slimy human being. 

"He doesn't give up, does he?" 

He glanced sideways at Chad, who was giving him a look that resembled pity a little too much for his liking. "Shut up and keep standing guard," he hissed before running a hand through his silky hair, shaking off the bad feeling Mark's visit left in him.  
  
"Just sayin'." Chad shrugged and leaned back against the door, but Jared could still feel his penetrating gaze on his back.  
  
When the kid got like that, he wasn't going to shut up no matter how often you told him to. Might as well indulge him. "Saying what?" Jared asked in frustration, keeping his voice low so that none of the customers could hear them. "That he's an obsessive stalker? Don't you think I already know that?" He gave a small, tired shake of his head. "He's a cockroach. I have tried stomping on him until I couldn't feel my feet anymore, but... Guy just keeps coming back."  
  
"Hydra," Chad muttered with thoughtful, solemn eyes, looking at something no one but he could see.  
  
Jared frowned. "Hydra?"  
  
Nodding, the other tapped his neck. "The many-headed serpent. A water monster from Greek and also Roman mythology, living by the entrance to the Underworld. It was the bloodthirsty spawn of the God of all monsters, with breath and blood so poisonous even its scent was deadly. But most dangerous of it all was the Hydra's head...well, heads. Because for every head one brave and very stupid 'hero' chopped off, two more would regrow, making it virtually impossible to defeat it." Chad's lips curled into a thin smile. "In the end, Heracles did manage to kill the creature with some fire and a nifty sword, but it wasn't easy," he said with a shrug. "Mark is your Hydra. The more you try to fight him, the more he comes after you and becomes part of your life."  
  
Jared watched his friend as he thought about that, and he couldn't say Chad was wrong. He wasn't wrong, but... "So what?" He snorted. "You're saying I should set the guy on fire? I mean, I dream about him dying almost every night. It would be the happiest day of my life," Jared said with a bitter smirk, leaning on the counter with his elbow and looking down at the rows of expensive accessories under the thick glass. "But I won't stoop to his level."  
  
Chad blinked, glancing at the door behind him. "You won't? Really?"  
  
"That's not the same." Jared gave him a hard stare. "You know it's not."  
  
"I do," he said as his expression softened. "I do. You're not a monster like him. But you're no Heracles either. I'd say you're more like...an anti-villain. Yeah."  
  
Jared couldn't help but chuckle. "An anti-villain, huh? I don't think I hate that, actually," he said in amusement, before getting distracted by a few customers. His mood got a little better after talking to Chad, even though it didn't, could never erase the chills and the pain, the memories. But that was fine. He was okay with how things were right now, his business, his life; he could even tolerate Mark's visits, if he really had to.   
  
As long as he didn't have to deal with anyone else's crap, Jared knew he was going to be fine. 

 


	2. Anti-Villain Meets Anti-Hero

 

The quiet was unfamiliar. 

During the day, the city was full of vigor, full of the hustles and bustles of everyday life. Cars coming and going, people chatting loudly among themselves or over the phone. These, the blaring sirens and the honking, the laughter and yelling, were the heart of every city, their own tiny chaotic symphony. Every person, every object, every drop of water and every gust of wind were part of the growing orchestra of the world, which never stopped playing.

During the night, their song was different. Tamer, but still there. It was in the sounds of the few passing cars, the doors and windows closing, the echoes of drunken laughter. It was different...but always alive. 

Not tonight, though. 

Well, at least not with him almost spitting his lungs out from how fast he was running.

"Stop! Richmond PD, I said stop!" the guy chasing him shouted, sounding just as out of breath as he was, except maybe more. He hoped more.

Jensen really didn't want to get caught by that asshole.

He's been through enough crap to get his hands on the recording to get busted now. And there was no way the corrupt cop running after him wouldn't snatch the camera from him the moment he caught up, before shattering it against the ground. It did, after all, contain a video recording of him helping a racist gang beat the living shit out of some poor black kid. Bastard even gave the boys his baton, encouraging them to aim for the back of the head, pointing out the spots that ought to hurt the most. It sickened Jensen, but he stayed put behind the fence and made very sure to get a clear shot of the cop's face as he recorded him, and thanks to his high-res camera—pretty thing was new, so he would be even more pissed if it got destroyed—he even got to record the sound, everything being able to be heard loud and clear. 

He rounded a corner and almost tripped, his shoes slipping on the wet sidewalk and making him momentarily lose his balance. Crap, he needed to be more careful. He really couldn't afford getting caught. Everyone would be mad, including himself. Letting rotten bastards like this one just walk away and continue spreading misery in this world was not their motto. It wasn't what they were fighting for. 

Even after four blocks without stopping, Jensen could still hear the man's footsteps behind him, the splashes of water as those heavy boots that were stomping on the kid's ankle, not more than twenty minutes ago, stepped into puddles of water scattered across the streets. He was running—hah—out of time, because even though he was rather well built and proved to have great stamina countless times, he was still up against a police officer, a shithead or not. Sooner or later, the cop was going to catch up, or worse. Scared cops tended to have itchy trigger fingers, after all. Which meant he had to find a place to disappear, and quick.

After rounding a few more corners, Jensen found himself in front of an alley. Bingo. He glanced over his shoulder before rushing inside, hoping the darkness would shield him from the other's eyes for now. But that wasn't enough. Hugging the dirty wall, and muttering a silent prayer for his favorite dark brown leather jacket to survive this ordeal, Jensen scanned the alley for anything he could use. A fire escape, a wall low enough he could climb over, an ajar door or even a damn dumpster, although that had to be a really last resort. And just when he thought he was going to have to burn his clothes after getting in a dumpster he spotted next to a basement window, he noticed the aforementioned window to be slightly open. Good, he could work with that.

Jensen swiftly made his way to the other side and crouched down, giving the window a couple pushes. It didn't give easily, but after one hard kick, whatever was keeping it in place came loose, allowing him to squeeze through. Really squeeze, his hips and shoulders almost getting stuck in the small window frame.

He managed to make it, closing the window and ducking under it just in time as he saw the cop's feet stop not far from the glass. Listening intently, waiting, Jensen sat holding his breath and straining his eyes in the darkness, watching the shadows of the man's feet reflected on the opposite wall; and then let out a relieved exhale as the shadows disappeared, taking his pursuer with them. 

With danger out of the way, Jensen took some time to inspect his surroundings. He couldn't see much, on account of the darkness enveloping the room, but gathering from the cardboard boxes he was sitting on, he was probably in some storage room. Soon, though, his eyes began getting used to the dark, allowing Jensen to climb off the boxes and look around a little. Just to find more boxes. Sweet. 

He trailed his fingers along some of them stacked high enough to reach his chin, wondering if he should open one and check inside, and almost walked right into a clothes rack. Dresses and silky, thin clothes as far as his hands could tell, although he wasn't even sure if he should call them clothes, they seemed so sparse. Probably some woman's underwear collection. _Lucky_. Jensen took one, something that felt like panties, and stuffed it into his pocket with a little smirk. Just a reward for his hard work.

Jensen looked around the room once more, making sure he didn't miss anything interesting, and then felt his way towards the door, cheering inside when he turned the handle and the door opened. Hoping no one was home, or whoever lived here was sleeping—it was around two in the morning, after all—Jensen peered up and down the hallway before slipping out of the room. It was nothing special, as far as he could tell. No pictures on the wall, no wallpaper, just deep burgundy walls with the occasional door. However, Jensen wasn't an interior decor enthusiast, so after making sure he was alone in the hallway, he silently made his way towards the end, up a small flight of stairs, before ending up in another hallway with doors—except this time each door had a number on it.

He didn't have time to really wonder where he ended up, as the sound of growing footsteps had him jumping and choosing a door at random. So he wasn't alone after all. Shit. Hurriedly slipping into a room, he was ready to run or climb out the next window he saw; but the place he ended up in had no such things, Jensen needing a moment to comprehend what he was looking at. 

He wasn't out of the woods yet, though. Not even a minute passed before he could hear the same footsteps outside the door, and then his stomach dropped as he heard the door opening, Jensen positive he has never reacted this fast before in his life. In an instant, he was pressed against the wall, the opening door hiding him from the man entering and looking around the room Jensen was still amazed by. Rows of perfumes and towels, medical creams; small bowls of candy and condoms; and all sorts of toys used for his and hers pleasure, from cock rings to butt plugs, all looking strangely...fancy, with what seemed like gemstones. And in the end of the small room, a wall filled with holes, and a table with V shaped extensions, the kind one could lie on with half their body while the other half was on the other side of the wall. 

Did he end up in a freaking sex shop?

For now, the man didn't seem to be noticing him, which was good because he was much taller than him, and Jensen wasn't sure if he could outmaneuver someone like that. He had to somehow slither out from behind the door and slip out of the room, though, as the longer he stayed put, the more likely he was going to get discovered. He stood still, waiting, taking slow and silent breaths as he made himself as invisible as possible, watching as the man looked around the room. He knew. The guy knew that someone was somewhere around here, that _Jensen_ was here... And so without wasting another moment, he waited until the man walked to the end of the room before slithering out from behind the door, entering into the hallway just in time to hear the shout coming from the room. 

Not looking back, Jensen rushed down the corridor, but he could hear the man following him. Catching up. Crap. He barely slowed down as he yanked the door open, the handle bounding loudly off the wall and probably leaving some plaster on the floor. He took the stairs down two at a time, almost overstepping at one point and tumbling the rest of the way, but thank god this place had a railing, helping him get to the bottom in one piece as well as gaining some speed. But it wasn't enough—he could still hear the man following, running after him stubbornly. Persistent asshole. 

Fine. If the bastard wanted a cat and mouse game, Jensen would give one to him. He glanced over his shoulder, noticing how alarmingly close the other was, and picked up speed. He had a plan, and as he heard the footsteps become a little fainter behind him, he was confident it was going to be a success. He already managed to get away from one loser tonight, he was _not_ going to get caught by another one. No. 

He took a sharp left, his shoes squeaking on the floor at the turn, and he slammed the door shut behind him as soon as he was in the room, immediately grabbing for, albeit blindly in the darkness, the clothes rack. After pulling it before the door as a weak form of barricade, he took a one-eighty and headed straight for the boxes under the window he used to get inside. Just one hard wrench. That's all he needed. Open it and climb out with the speed of a hundred horses, easy, he could do that stuff on his worst day. 

And while this day was shitty, it wasn't even close to his worst.

The window gave relatively easily, opening after only a couple rough tugs, although Jensen almost broke the glass in his hurry. Wouldn't have been good to crawl out with bloody hands. He snarled, damn, getting out wasn't as easy as getting in, what with the window opening inwards and being in the way. Not that it stopped him—Jensen thrust his arms out and got his head out on the other side, already pulling himself up and outside, when he heard the clothes rack falling over. Halfway out. He was going to make it, just one more big push, maybe kick the guy if he got too close, he could—

"Hey!" the man yelled behind him, his voice muffled slightly but still audible as Jensen climbed faster. "Hey, shithead! You better stop right now, or I'm blowing a hole in your ass."

And then the sound of the man cocking a gun.

Fuck.

Jensen froze in place, only his legs left on the man's side. Maybe... But then he felt the barrel tapping against his ankle, and he knew it was too late. He almost made it. Almost.

"Turn around," the man ordered as Jensen squeezed his way back inside, kneeling on the boxes. He closed his eyes with a sigh, before slowly getting off the boxes and turning around with his hands raised, just in case. 

He stayed silent, squinting in the black room. The only source of faint light, a ray of moonlight coming through the open window, illuminated a small portion of the other's face, Jensen getting a good look at the guy's features for the first time. Nothing special, but...not bad. Foxy hazel eyes, a rather cute nose, pinkish lips, and some kind of chestnut mop for hair. Kinda girlish, aside, of course, from the slight stubble he could make out, and the fact the guy was like six foot tall.

And he also had a pistol aimed at Jensen's face. Not exactly a friendly image.

"Alright, you've got me," he said, shrugging and raising his eyebrows with a sly smile. "I must say, you're pretty fast. Those long legs really do give you a boost, huh? Lucky."

The man narrowed his eyes, the gun never wavering. This wasn't someone who was afraid of weapons. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

"Well, if I remember correctly, you were the one who chased me all the way here, so..." he said, unable to help himself, and it was so worth it. The guy's bitchface was a thing of beauty. 

It did result in him stepping closer and pressing the cold end of the barrel against Jensen's chest, though. "I'm not in the mood, pal. And if you were me, you wouldn't be either." He moved his index finger to the trigger. "Now talk. Who sent you? Mark?"

Jensen raised his hands a little higher, saying, "Look, let's just take a moment to breathe here, alright? You're not the type that appreciates some comic relief, okay, gotcha. But I don't know any Marks, unless you've got some beef with Mark Sheppard down at Crossroads Insurance, which I can totally understand, that guy's got like zero decent bone left in his body—" The barrel pressed harder against his chest. "Okay, okay. Listen," Jensen said with a more serious edge to his tone, not wanting to be shot to death because of his wits. "No, I was not sent by a Mark, or by anyone. I was...just running away. And I saw this little window behind me, which led to this mysterious room of boxes. Then I just walked around, again, with no ill intent, only looking for an exit. And then I heard footsteps, panicked, which I mean you _must_ understand, before ending up in that..." Sex room? BDSM den?

"Were you followed?" The man glanced at the window and kept pushing the gun against his chest, apparently not satisfied with Jensen's answers. "Who were you running from?"

"Well," Jensen started with a laugh, before clearing his throat when he noticed the other's piercing glare. "Just the cops."

The guy blinked incredulously. "The cops?"

"Well, one cop. But he didn't follow me here, I swear. I waited until he left, and he has no idea where I am. If he did, I'm pretty sure he would have crawled down here with me, considering what I've got on me."

"And what is that?" the other asked carefully, and Jensen wanted to smack himself. There he goes again, running his mouth. They’ve always warned him that it was going to get him into trouble, and here he was, staring at _trouble_. 

"Nothing," he responded too quickly, and then rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Just...a recording. He's a dirty cop," he explained, seeing no other way. "You know, the type with a family and other cop buddies, the type that goes out drinking at night and is liked by those who have no idea who he really is. The type that looks down on whoever isn't white, secretly condescending even to women. The type..." He glanced at his pocket, the one that held the camera. "That encourages harassment and gives some guys his baton to use against a defenseless black kid. Watching, riling them up, even landing a few kicks, y'know, just for shits and giggles. Because he can."

The man watched him for a long time, his eyes cautious and pensive, before he asked, "And you have a recording of him doing those things?" Jensen nodded. "Why?"

He scoffed. "Why not? You think calling the cops would have helped that kid? Would help anyone? Sure, maybe a genuine good guy would have showed up, but you never know. And it's all...bureaucracy, the government, the system... It's fucked up." He licked his dry lips, relaxing just a little. "Without proof, _undoubted_ proof, it's your word against theirs. Nothing you do, no matter how hard you try, will have any positive consequences. Not if you do them 'by the books'." He shook his head. "No, you've gotta be tricky. You've gotta fool the system, make them look like idiots. Shove that proof right into their faces in a way they can't possibly look away, in a way that... That'll ruin them forever. This is the only way. Because they might be able to silence one, two, a small group of people," he said with a snarl. "But they cannot do anything when their dirty laundry spills out into the open, where _everyone_ can see it."

The man glanced down, looking Jensen over, hand on the gun never wavering. "So, what are you supposed to be? Some lone vigilante?"

"No," he said with a snort, "I ain't no Batman. Plus, I'm not exactly alone..." He trailed off, to what the other raised his eyebrows questioningly. "It's– We're a group. Kind of an organization."

"So vigilantes."

"Call it however you want, man. Point is, we are trying to make this world a better place, plucking out one weed at a time," Jensen explained, but the other didn't seem impressed at all.

"You people..." He made a sound similar to a scoff, slowly taking a couple steps back, gun still aimed at Jensen's chest. "You're such naive idiots."

"Hey now—"

"You can't change the world!" he exclaimed with a ridiculing chuckle. "You get rid of some assholes, I'll applaud you. Good job. But so what? One 'weed' is gone, another grows in its place. Don't tell me you don't already know that. It's like trying to get rid of grass by mowing the lawn. It'll look better, for a while, after you've worked on it. But it'll _always_ grow back. Always be there. Those baddies you want to eradicate in order to bring peace, they're everywhere. In plain sight or in hiding, far away or closer than you might think, we're surrounded by evil. Got it?" He un-cocked the gun. "Ignorant fools playing make-believe and acting like humble heroes piss me off," he hissed, gesturing at the window. "Leave."

Jensen looked between the man and the gun, and while he appreciated that he was being released, he did not like the way the other was speaking. "Look..." He slowly lowered his hands, making sure to appear unintimidating as the man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You don't believe in our cause, alright. I'll admit, it's not the most realistic thing ever, and you seem like someone who...has probably had his fair share of bad experiences involving the kind of people we're trying to get rid of. But what we're doing? It's not useless. Maybe it's not much in the grand scheme of things, but think about it. Robbing one asshole of power, how many lives does that save?"

"In my opinion? Not enough," the man spat, before cocking the gun once again and closing in on Jensen, who was beginning to regret not leaving when he had the chance. "But I bet it makes you feel better. All that tiny difference you're making, it helps justify your entire life." He backed Jensen into the cardboard boxes under the window. "You _disgust_ me. You and your glorified cause. You're just wasting your time! No one cares, don't you get it? Can't you see that, end of the day, you've achieved nothing?" The man was raising his voice now, gripping the gun tight by his side. "No one will ever show you any gratitude, you're just a waste of space, you don't belong here. We... No one needs heroes like you," he said, raising the gun and tucking it under Jensen's chin, which was the last drop in the bucket.

Jensen moved fast, jabbing the heel of his palm into the other's wrist and redirecting the line of fire to the left, and then reaching up with his left hand to grab the gun from the man. Using his momentum, he grabbed the other's wrist and twisted his arm back, all the while pointing the gun at his head and turning him around. The man did struggle, but Jensen's sudden move startle him enough that he began resisting too late, Jensen already having him pressed up against a mountain of boxes with an arm twisted behind him and the barrel of the gun pressed into the back of his head.

"Now, here's the thing," he purred into the man's ear as soft curls tickled his cheek. Huh, that mop of a hair was smoother than he thought. And smelled nice. Like flowers. Something exotic... "You," he said, frowning at the other's distracting hair, "clearly have some issues concerning people like me. Maybe a bad experience, or you've just seen too much crap on TV; and I won't judge you for that. But, pretty boy..." He twisted the other's arm harder, drawing a grunt from him, and pressed closer. "You don't point a gun at me more than once. Because I really, really don't like being threatened, especially not at gunpoint," he whispered, feeling the other's uncomfortable shudder as his breath ghosted over the man's skin. So he decided to bite the guy's ear, grinning when he heard the other growl. "What's wrong? Don't like being on the other end of the leash? Poor thing, must be so uncomfortable for you," Jensen drawled, knowing that he was probably crossing some lines here, but after the day he had, he deserved to tease the man a bit. "Come on, nothing to say?" He smirked, sliding the cold barrel down the other's neck, along his jaw, before tapping it against his chin. "How about you open up wide for me, hmm?" he asked tauntingly, chuckling, and was about to pull back and stop tormenting the guy—he was seriously late for the agreed meet-up at the bunker already—when he surprised Jensen by opening his mouth.

Licking his teeth, the man gazed back at him with sultry... No. With empty, cold eyes, that merely looked playful. "What are you waiting for?" he asked, voice much softer, silkier than before, and Jensen found himself entrapped in the other's gaze, in the sudden change of attitude. "Or did you get scared... Intimidated? Even though I'm completely defenseless, and you could do... _whatever_ you want with me?"

Jensen gulped, not expecting this turn of events. But while he was getting kinda turned on by the thought of the guy sucking on the gun, or maybe something else, he wasn't going to get tricked. He was into both guys and girls, so it was more difficult for him to resist temptation—but something told him that giving in to this one would probably end with a bullet in his heart. 

So, somewhat reluctantly, he backed away with the gun levelled at the other's head. "And yet from all the possible options, I'm choosing to walk away. Aren't I just the nicest?" He smirked as the man slowly turned around and raised his hands, his glare even sharper than before. There was something satisfying, almost entertaining about pissing this guy off.

"Truly a saint," the man sneered, narrowing his eyes into annoyed slits as Jensen ejected the magazine from the gun, before emptying it on the floor, the small bullets clattering eerily loudly in the silence of the night. 

"Yep." Jensen tossed the empty gun on the floor as well, standing there without a weapon and gambling on the fact that the other had nothing else on him. Or that he wasn't going to just try to beat him up instead. "So, I assume we're square? I mean we've both had a gun pointed to our heads tonight." He spread his hands with a smirk. "It doesn't get fairer than that."

The only answer he got was some more intense staring and glaring from the man, and when it became clear he wasn't going to say anything, Jensen nodded and kept his eyes on the other until the back of his thighs were pressing against the boxes. 

"Well...was nice meeting you, sexy stranger," he purred as he got on the boxes and made sure the window was fully open, a chuckle leaving him when he saw the disgruntled expression on the other's face as he turned back. "So long, and see you around!" Jensen touched his temple, giving the other the two-finger salute, before quickly climbing out of the window and dusting his dirty and pretty wet pants off once outside. He hated crawling on wet asphalt. 

He looked back at the window, but now that it was slightly brighter out here than in the room, he couldn't make out anything. He knew, however, that the man was still standing there. Watching him. He could _feel_ it, the other's eyes on his skin, and it sent a chill down his spine. There was something odd about him. Something not quite right about that entire place. But this was not the time to dwell on his instincts and what they were telling him, why they made him want to stay away, but also learn more about the place. 

This was the time to get the hell out of here.

And to get the hypnotizing image of the man's cat-like, enigmatic eyes out of his head. 

 


End file.
